


dust settles (snow falls)

by writing_addict



Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Afterlife, And he's not too happy about it, Book 1: King of Scars Spoilers, Book 2: Crooked Kingdom Spoilers, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Gen, Introspection, Light Angst, MERRY CHRISTMAS WY, Matthias helvar is dead, Post-Book 2: Crooked Kingdom, Post-Canon, djel is a character now bc i said so, even the demjin, poor matthias misses everybody, probably canon divergence but it isn't yet sO
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:42:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21959053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_addict/pseuds/writing_addict
Summary: Matthias Helvar is dead, and he's fine with it. He really is.(He's not.)Or:Hey, Wy, it's your secret santa! SURPRISE, MF.
Relationships: Hanne Brum/Nina Zenik, Matthias Helvar & Djel, Matthias Helvar/Nina Zenik
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32





	dust settles (snow falls)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wybiegowritey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wybiegowritey/gifts).



> Yeah, remember when I was hinting to you about my sad post-death character introspection? IT'S YOURS, BABE.

Matthias Helvar had come to one conclusion about the afterlife: it was _exceedingly_ boring.

Oh, it was lovely in every sense of the word, really. Djel was delighted that one of his so-called “chosen warriors” had finally gotten their act together and seen the truth of their faction’s doctrine. The god had said it himself when the wolves had lead him to the heart of the afterworld: _They gave themselves that name, Little Wolf, and spent years killing and slaughtering innocents in my name. You put it best yourself: I am the god of life, not death. All life. Even Grisha._

All the _druskelle_ heroes Brum had told him about, the legends they’d been raised on, every last one of those myths were rotting away and suffering the tortures they’d inflicted upon innocent people—suspected Grisha who hadn’t been Grisha at all, farmers and poets and _people_ who had just been living peacefully, whose only crime had been being born with powers they never asked for, Ravkan soldiers who’d fought tooth and nail for their people and known just how much damage they could do. Any life taken in cold blood and not in self-defense was inflicted upon the killers tenfold. And those from the latest few generations, the ones who’d known about Brum’s exploitation of Grisha, his attempt to make human weapons—they’d suffer infinitely more.

It was fair, that much Matthias knew. He didn’t like it, exactly—he’d only wound up in a different place from being _taught_ differently, from being thrown into a strange situation with people from vastly different circumstances and worldviews he’d never considered before. All _druskelle_ grew up in Fjerda, trained in the Ice Palace, and never left until they were dispatched on a proper mission. They learned nothing but destruction, nothing but death, and believed they were doing it for a god that would thank and welcome them.

_We are all someone’s monster._

His brothers in arms simply never learned anything different, never learned to _think_ about their actions instead of following blindly. Thieves, he discovered, were very good for making you think critically. They weren’t inclined to coddle anybody, even the son of a mercher who could easily expose their operation or the ex- _druskelle_ who was only kept from destroying their entire scheme from his desire for revenge. That selfish motivation had given him the chance to learn about—well, other people. Other lives.

Well. He said it was all of them, but it had been Nina first.

_Nina. Little red bird. Don’t go._

In the end, though, he had been the one to go. He’d followed the wolves all the way home, ready to step into eternal peace. He trusted that Nina would be alright—that they _all_ would. And they were. They _were._

At least, he’d thought they were, when he first found that he could watch them, this strange crew of honorable thieves and liars of which he’d once been part. This team of disgraces and fools and demons and, well, _Dregs._ Ones that he’d found himself missing far more than he ever expected to, ever _wanted_ to.

_Demjin and Wraith and sharpshooter and merchling and drusje._ Leather-gloved hands and a Fabrikator-made cane, dark braids and darker eyes and small, deadly knives named for each Saint, the scent of gunpowder and alcohol and the sound of wild laughter, red curls and pale hands that hid a ruthless heart, and… _Nina._ Red _kefta,_ hair the color of toffee and shining eyes and a tongue as sharp as any blade he’d ever wielded, laughter that shone like starlight and a warrior’s spirit as fierce as his own. Enemy and ally and friend and then _more,_ and then—

Then he died. And he watched as they finished the job, as Van Eck went down screaming about thieves and con men and his traitorous son (who was, in Matthias’s opinion, a thousand times braver and wiser and more intelligent than his warmongering fool of a father, even if he did seem alarmingly like Brekker in his chilling, scheming brilliance at times), as they split up—the Wraith taking a ship of her own name, small and fierce and fast, and setting out to destroy slavers, the _demjin_ taking control of the Dregs’ empire and cutting them a reputation as the nastiest crew in Ketterdam, crushing the Dime Lions beneath his heel. Wylan took over his father’s business (and seemed to be doing far better with it than Van Eck ever had, given that he actually seemed to care about the people working for him—and wasn’t seeking the secret of _jurda parem_ in order to start wars and gain profit, obviously), and Jesper went with him, the two walking into their future hand-in-hand.

Nina—

Nina brought him home. Brought his body home, anyway, and he watched her mourn and grieve, watched her overcome his death, watched her trick Jarl Brum and find a companion, friend, and something more in Hanne Brum.

It hurt—only a little bit, but it still hurt, twisting slightly in his chest. His heart would forever belong to Nina Zenik, he knew, in life and in death, and even though he was reduced to watching and waiting ( _hundreds of years, powerful Grisha could live hundreds of years, or perhaps those were just the Sun and Shadow Summoners, but—),_ he loved her still. He could never begrudge her it, of course; he was _glad_ she’d fallen in love, that she was doing what she’d forever loved to do, helping Grisha across the world and uncovering cruel experiments that he knew Djel would loathe. That her life hadn’t ended with his, and never would.

But he…missed her.

He missed _all_ of them. Brekker’s wit and pragmatism, Inej’s warmth and wisdom, Jesper’s laughter and quick tongue, Wylan’s kindness and hidden streak of mischief. All traits he’d hated or condemned the first time he met them— _demon, ghost, fool, naïve—_ and ones he missed fiercely, achingly now. For the afterlife…

The afterlife was beautiful. The afterlife was everything he’d imagined and more, shining and warm and bright, like an Ice Palace that was truly made to uphold _life._ It was like stepping into a world where the _druskelle_ were honest and good and knew the cost of their actions, where the boys Matthias grew up with didn’t turn into senseless murderers—where everyone he’d known and loved and hoped to save had had a Nina Zenik, a north star to guide them on the right path. It was beautiful, it was a dream, and yet it wasn’t enough.

Though it was where the chosen of Djel dwelled, there was no real life to it. There was no wonder, no strangeness, no wildness in the world after death. He could wander streets like the ones he’d known back home, colorful and organized and lovely in every sense of the word, and find himself remembering narrow, crooked cobblestone paths. He could see open blue skies and shimmering clouds, and yet he found himself smiling fondly when he thought about the perpetual fog and general sogginess of Ketterdam. He’d dine on sweetrolls and elk and cake (he’d never told Nina that he was also quite fond of cake, not properly, anyways), but find himself reminiscing about Kerch wafflehouses and cups of coffee so black it took weeks to wash the taste out of your mouth.

He loved Fjerda. He would always love Fjerda. But he missed the Dregs, the Slat, the crew. He even missed their smoke-and-smog city and their overabundance of ships and canals.

_“Matthias.”_

He looked up from a small bag of toffees—and immediately bowed his head as the god sat beside him, Djel’s ever-shifting eyes of gold and gray blinking solemnly at him. “Lord Djel,” he murmured, eyes still respectfully lowered. “What do you need of me?”

There was a low, warm chuckle, the god tilting his head back. _“Need of you? Matthias, I need nothing of you. The afterlife is supposed to be your reward. The real question should be what I can do for you, hm?”_

He jerked back, eyes widening as he looked up at Djel again. “My lord, I would never dream of asking—”

_“I know, I know.”_ Djel waved a hand dismissively. _“You are a remarkably selfless man, Matthias Helvar. I believe it’s one of the reasons Nina Zenik was able to reach your heart in the first place.”_ The god chuckled again. _“But you are also something of a martyr. You would gladly suffer without a word if it meant others could thrive. Not a bad quality, of course, but…”_ He tilted his head. _“You are unfulfilled.”_

“I’m not unhappy, my lord—”

_“I did not say unhappy. I said_ unfulfilled,” Djel corrected, a little more firmly now. _“You lived your entire life with a purpose, Matthias. You fought for the_ druskelle _cause. You fought to survive. You fought for revenge—and then you fought for the people who had your back, as…unorthodox as they might be. Some could last an eternity of peace, but not you. Not, at least, without them.”_

Matthias swallowed thickly and stared down at his lap. What was he supposed to say to that—that it was true? That he felt empty here, no matter how many wonders he saw or how many hunts he went on? That for all the kindnesses Djel had blessed him with, he could not bring himself to be satisfied? That he was ungrateful, left without a reason to fight?

_“I need warriors, Matthias.”_

He froze. His unbeating heart would have stopped in his chest if he lived still. “…My lord?”

Djel’s gaze was faraway. _“Someone has twisted the laws of Life and Death. A Saint has betrayed their brethren. Black Heretic, Shadow King, Starless Saint—whatever his name, he lives, and he intends to wreak havoc upon a world that rejected him. Ravka’s king readies himself to stand against him, but if they do not find aid, they will die.”_

“…My aid.”

Djel gave him a flickering smile. _“Not just yours, Matthias Helvar. The Darkling expects soldiers, expects warriors, expects kings and queens and monsters to rise up to face him. He is not expecting thieves.”_

Oh.

_Oh._

“ _Last time, you were the last addition to Kaz Brekker’s team of outcasts. Now it is your job to gather them home, and unleash them on the world.”_ Blazing eyes turned on him, a hand the pure white of snow extending toward him. _“What say you, Matthias Helvar? Will you serve me?”_

He didn’t have to think about it. Didn’t hesitate. Would never hesitate to lift his sword to defend the people who had dragged him out of hell.

Matthias took Djel’s hand and did not kneel as he said, “I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! Have a very merry Christmas and congrats on your socks, my dude <3


End file.
